


Reckless Abandon

by squareupthot



Category: The Outsiders (1983), The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Sex, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobia, I don’t know what I’m doing tbh, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Sex, Underage Smoking, dally’s ass, dally’s man tiddies, i don’t know where this wil go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25609111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squareupthot/pseuds/squareupthot
Summary: dallas pines and they’re not five feet apart
Relationships: Johnny Cade & Dallas Winston, Johnny Cade & Ponyboy Curtis, Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston, Ponyboy Curtis & Dallas Winston, Tim Shepard & Dallas Winston
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> thought of some jally and wrote it down

With Johnny’s soot-black eyes gazing into his pale-gray vacant ones, everything around Johnny paused like a cinematographic still, the sounds of people talking becoming muffled and distant, everything in the distance fading into a blur, and Johnny, soaked in prismatic layers of light, dry-lipped and chapped, looked at Dallas, who was gone. Overwhelmed. Melting in a golden peace. His mouth stood dumbly agape, tearing his eyes from the sight as his heart was suddenly several sizes too big for his chest. The orange pool of streetlight buzzed and flickered as ribbons of cigarette smoke strayed heavenwards, Johnny the only person in the entire world. Johnny, who holds Dallas’s world in his small hands. Johnny, absentmindedly kicking a rock on the sidewalk, Johnny, whose eyes underneath these layers of warm glow shone a deep chocolate brown in contrast to his doe, black ones underneath the shade of his bangs. Dallas’s words died in his throat, and when he reformed them again, they came out suddenly, strangled in a broken cough.  
“When’re you gonna get outta that shithole, huh?” his voice dripped of fondness. Johnny was perplexed. “What?”  
“That house, man. With your dad beatin’ on you ‘n all that—“ he paused, his heart suddenly caught in his throat, “You don’t belong there.”  
“Shoot, Dallas. I hardly belong anywhere,” he said with a weak chuckle. His eyes were black again as he flicked his ashes at the rusted pavement they stood on. Dallas’s gaze was stuck in a trance at the sight of Johnny’s chapped lips pursing around his cigarette. Dallas gulped. “I’m serious,” he said, hoarse. “I want you outta there,” his voice came out in a way that made himself mentally kick himself. He sounded choked up and weak. His knees were weak enough, about to cave in and collapse right there, in front of God and everyone. He couldn’t control it. He vividly knew, just as he knows that he will die, that he’s in love with Johnny. He’s forced to keep this forced down as he tries to remain normal, even as his hands become clammy and his voice keeps breaking out. 

This began the settling, dawning realization that Dallas was in too deep.


	2. nothing gold can stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dally reads a poem and talks about gays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a fair warning that this chapter includes some homophobic slurs that are used only for the sake of the plot and time-appropriate homophobia in ths 60’s. hope u enjoy!!

Nature’s first green is gold. 

Clicking his tongue, Dallas scoffed. ‘Nature’s first green…’ like when the trees start growing their fucking leaves back? How the hell is that gold? The meaningless words left just as quickly as they came, leaving an agitated greaser snooping through Ponyboy’s shelf for kicks. That kid really was a sissy. Wise-ass. He chucked the book sloppily back on the shelf. 

////

“Don’t tell me you’re sleepin’ out here tonight.”

It was half past eleven in the lot. Nearly fifty degrees out. Days get darker and colder in the fall. Breeze chills, blows. Cold wind, crisp air, all that shit. Rough nights for sleeping outside. Dazed and denim-clad, Johnny looks up from his cigarette to the sound of Dally. “Whaddya doin’ out here?” he asks. 

Johnny takes a long drag, shrugs a bit. “Not sleepin’ here. Just thinking s’all.” Dally examines him.  
“Yeah? You do a lot of thinkin’ in that head’a yours?” he says. “You didn’t think to wear a jacket. Where is it, stupid?” Johnny flushes a bit. Damn cute. “Left it at home,” he answers sheepishly. “You little shit,” Dally says, scoffing a bit. “What good’s your head for if you don’t use it?” Johnny’s lips twitch into a grin. “You’re startin’ to sound like Darry.” 

“Oh shut it,” Dallas says affectionately, ruffling Johnny’s hair. His chest fills with warmth. He promptly looks over to Johnny’s bare arms, thinks immediately about handing over his jacket, draping it over his shoulders. Before he realizes it, his hand is already pressed against Johnny’s arm. 

Johnny gives him a quizzical glance. His skin feels chilly. There’s light goosebumps trickling over them. “What?” Johnny says softly. Suddenly embarrassed, Dallas pulls away, averting his eyes. “Mosquito,” he answers simply. Seemingly satisfied with that answer, Johnny looks away, while unbeknownst to him a blue-sea wave of tenderness settles over Dallas. He can’t take it. “C’mere, Cakes,” he says. Roughly, he pushes his jacket onto him. Johnny nearly drowns in it. Can’t take it at all. 

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—“  
“Shuddup and take it,” he says sharply. Johnny instantly quiets down, mumbling a feather-soft “thanks.” Don’t look at him in your jacket, he says to himself. He looks at him in his jacket. Fuck. So fucking cute. He has to push back the sleeves to even reveal his hands. “You’d think someone oughta tell you to take a fuckin’ jacket with you, dammit Johnny.” 

“I ain’t got nobody,” Johnny said wryly, a bitter, empty grin on his face. You got me, Dally wanted to say, but the words died in his throat. “I fuckin’ told you to, didn’t I?” Dally said.  
He puffed out a ring of smoke and bumped his shoulder against Johnny’s good-naturedly. “And you know I don’t like you sayin’ that shit,” he said lightly, no edge to it, handing his cigarette over to Johnny. He took it and held it between his fingers, staring at it blankly. A silence loomed over them. He opened his mouth like he was about to say something, but then promptly shut it, bringing the cigarette to his lips instead. The words bickered at Dallas to the point of it being unbearable. I ain’t got nobody. 

“You really think you got nobody?” he finally asked, taking Johnny off guard. He saw his shoulders tense up, and then subtly relax, a detail that would’ve been invisible to anyone but Dally. With the orange and damp streetlight hitting his face like this, he almost glowed in a way. The words beckoned in the back of Dally’s mind. Nature’s first green is gold… 

Johnny was reluctant to answer, especially with Dally looking at him so earnestly, trying to cover up his concern with a hopefully neutral look. He failed however, and Johnny felt his gaze piercing through him. “I know I got the gang, but… they all have people to go home to. Families, and…” he trailed off, his eyes miserably sad. “They can sleep in their beds without worrying that they’ll be woken up with a black eye.” 

Dally felt a painful lump in his chest, like it was bludgeoning his heart with a stone. He turned his gaze away in case he had on a mushy expression again. 

“If that’s the case, I ain’t got nobody either,” he deflected bitterly, “Hell, sometimes I wake up to broads trying to hit me over the head with a two-by-four ‘cause I cheated on them or some shit.” He looked back over to Johnny, which felt like a sucker punch to the gut. He looked like he could start bawling at any second, his big eyes wobbly and full of regret that he said anything in the first place. Before he knew it, he had his hand raised up towards Johnny. To do what, he had no clue. Touch his hair? Stroke his cheek? 

He resorted to slinging his arm over his thin shoulders. Shit. If he didn’t know any better, eyes closed, consciousness stirred, he would’ve thought he was a girl if he had his face covered, judging from his frame alone—never had he met any guy like Johnny. With his body being pretty and all that. 

“Got nobody, my ass. You can come to me anytime, you punk.” The words were intimate. Unusually intimate, that the silence afterwards was unbearable for Dally. His voice came out low, sweet. Johnny’s body warmth made the tips of his fingers all tingly. The fondness in his tone. His buzzing thumb even played with Johnny’s shoulder, like he would with a chick. Rubbing lazy circles over his limp shoulder. Johnny cracked a self-deprecated grin. “Guess that makes us outsiders, huh?” he said, and even though the words were bitter, he didn’t sound bothered. Damn. Don’t notice the dimple on his cheek. Dallas felt his lip tremble. A bubble of pride swelled in his chest from making him smile, making his mouth itching to turn gooey with a dopey smirk. He used his free hand to scratch at his chin in an attempt to shield his lame expression. 

“Hey, Dal,” Johnny says suddenly, startling Dally out of his momentary golden peace. “Yeah,” he barked in response, eyes flickering to the side profile of the boy he loved beside him. His thumb trembled a bit over his shoulder. 

“You ever meet a faggot?” 

He froze. The arm that was nuzzled warmly around Johnny’s shoulder now hovered awkwardly over his jacket, his jaw clenched tightly as the words swam and sped up, progressing to be a tsunami in his head. A flash of something Johnny couldn’t identify crossed his eyes, ending as instantly as it came. 

He let out a bitter laugh. “Beat some up in New York,” Dally responded simply. He pulled his arm away, shoving both of his clammy hands in his pockets. He looked away, shuffled a bit to flick open his lighter. “Why you askin’ about that shit?” he asked, an edge to his voice. Johnny fidgeted under Dally’s sharp stare. “I was… just wonderin’. Y’know, how they act ‘n all… Never met one before.” Dally bit onto his cigarette. 

“Dal, your cigarette’s the wrong way around.”  
“Huh?” he stopped and looked at Johnny, taking his cig between his fingers and examining it. So it was. Dallas grumbled. “Yeah, whatever.” He pocketed his lighter and turned it right-side around. Johnny unsuccessfully hid his amused smile. Dally’s own lips twitched up to a dopey grin at the fact that he got him to smile but he quickly fought it away. 

Dallas’s throat was suddenly very dry. He cleared his throat and lit another cig, heaved down a drag. “You really wanna know?” he asked. Johnny looked at him earnestly, nodded. 

“Sometimes, it’s… real easy to tell. The way they talk. The way they act. Like they wanna be chicks or something. But sometimes…” his throat is suddenly choked up from being too dry, and he has to gulp before continuing. “Sometimes they’re just… I dunno.” Like me, a voice hissed. The thought alone made him flinch. “Like, normal, or something. Or however close to normal you can get from being queer.” 

Johnny was looking at him with undoubting eyes. He’d believe Dally no matter what. Sometimes the kid was almost too good of a listener. “Normal? Like, you wouldn’t be able to tell if they’re a faggot or not?” he asked, his voice growing small. 

Dallas wondered where that question came from. Above the horizon, the sun was beginning to set in hues of soft orange, like a line of fire settling over the trees ahead of them. Johnny’s skin glowed like honey in this type of lighting, catching the corners of Dally’s stealthy eye despite himself. 

Nothing gold can stay. All at once, the words fell all too real. Auburn and rosy through the gold-chested layers of light, the underlying mists of fading smoke from Dally’s lips veiled Johnny. That miserable looking, scrawny punk. Something in Dally’s stomach flipped, causing nervous ripples of something fluttery teetering his insides. Was that poem about Johnny after all? Present lunar, past forgotten, Dally’s dissolution was nearing. 

“Don’t go asking about that again,” he muttered, huffing a little. “Creeps me out just thinkin’ about ‘em.” As usual, Johnny didn’t have much to say to his snappy retorts. Dally’s hands were still clammy. He cursed under his breath. Dammit. Never—not even when he’d go fucking broads in New York—

“It’s gettin’ late,” Johnny says softly. “I’d better get back.” He twitches a little from a nervous cold chill, turns to leave. He shrugs off Dally’s jacket and hands it to him. Dallas says nothing and lets him leave. A vague restless dread settles in his stomach as he listens to the sound of Johnny’s sneakers crunching against leaves and dry grass until they completely fade. 

“You ever meet a faggot?” 

Dallas is suddenly very aware of the near-empty whiskey bottle sitting beside him. The image of Johnny’s golden side frame never left his mind. With a burst of anger, his arm rolls like thunder with an abundant flow of violence towards the streetlight with the bottle in hand.  
Roaring through the wet, rolling through the windy night. The shards of glass laid beneath his feet. Damn it all.

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter was short as hell but i’m still experimenting with this pairing so hang with me


End file.
